let thy kingdom come
by hpfreakster
Summary: When the Princess in the West and the Prince in the North are joined in holy matrimony, it sets off a series of events that no one could predict. Medieval AU.


**This the Medevial AU I was talking about on tumblr. It's a strange mix of Game of Thrones and any other medieval AU I wrote. I'm not sure how many chapters there will be, or where I'm going, but we'll see. It'll be a ride!**

When Princess Jemma Simmons of the West turns six years old, it becomes apparent to all those invested in the future of the West that it will be Princess Jemma that ascends to the throne. And while the Princess is gentle in manner and adored by her subjects, she is perceived as weak (despite King Richard's assertions that his daughter is anything but weak).

Queen Elizabeth knows that it doesn't matter what they believe, it matters what the kingdom thinks, or more importantly what the Kingdoms around them believe. And will King Garrett in the South growing more powerful by the day, and more eager to expand the realms of his kingdom, Queen Elizabeth knows there is nothing more important than securing a powerful alliance for their daughter.

And she made her opinions very clear to both Jemma and the King during the precious few hours they spent as a family.

"I do not know why you don't see this as a matter of great importance," she whined to her husband every time they gathered in the study.

Richard turned towards his young daughter and pulled a face that indicated his displeasure at his wife's remarks. His daughter giggled, amused by her father's antics.

"Elizabeth," he says in a patronizing tone. "We have discussed this, when the right alliance comes a long, we will discuss it. But until then," he trails off, looking down at his daughter's innocent face, "I have no intention of selling my daughter off to the highest bidder."

"Stop being so dramatic, Richard," Elizabeth rolls her eyes. "It isn't about that, and you know it. It's about preserving our daughter's future, our legacy, and our kingdom. Princess Skye of the North has been betrothed to the bumbling Prince in the East since she was barely a few days old. She doesn't seem opposed to the union. I heard her bubbling about it to Jemma the last time we were in the North."

"Princess Skye is barely older than Jemma," Richard protests. "She does not know any better."

"She knows it's her duty," Elizabeth argues. "As does Jemma," she turns towards her daughter, "Don't you darling."

Jemma stares up at her mother with a solemn expression and nods slowly. Her duty had been drilled into her since birth, she knew better than to side against her mother in this aspect.

"You forget your place, Elizabeth." Richard says sharply, angry with his wife for involving their daughter. "As long as I am still King, Jemma's marriage with be my responsibility, and only mine. I invite your counsel, but only when it's in the best interest of our daughter."

Elizabeth huffs. "I do have our daughter's best interests in mind, Richard. I'm trying to protect her legacy."

Richard ignores his wife, as he turns towards his daughter. "Which story shall we read today, Princess?"

"Can we read the one that Healer Matthews gave me?" She asks sweetly, looking up at her father.

"Of course," he acquiesces almost immediately, standing up to fetch the book from the shelves.

"I do wish you would stop encouraging this foolish interest of her," Elizabeth says watching him.

"I happen to enjoy encouraging our daughter's curious mind," Richard says simply.

"She will never have any practical healing," Elizabeth protests. "May the gods have mercy on her soul," she amends quickly.

"Knowledge is always important," Richard reminds her.

"So is marriage," Elizabeth mutters.

"Now hush dear," Richard says saccharine voice, pulling Jemma into his lap. "I'm reading to our daughter."

They go to the North every year for the Harvest festival. It is one of Jemma's favorite times of the year. They spend the better part of a month traveling to the North, a long and arduous journey. But at the end of it, they arrive in the North.

Jemma _loves_ the North. She rarely admits it to anyone, because her mother despises the North. It's cold and unforgiving, unlike the Isles where she grew up in. But the North holds a special place in Jemma's heart because it's where she's made her fondest memories.

And when Jemma is sixteen years old, they go for a special reason.

Princess Skye is marrying Prince Leopald Fitz.

Despite how infrequently the pair saw each other, Jemma always considered Skye to be one of her closest friends. And the fact that Skye was getting married warmed Jemma's heart. She wanted to be there for Skye's wedding to support her friend.

When they reach the North, the procession leading up to the castle is lined up with people of the town, vying for a glimpse of the kingdom of the West. The entire court of the North is lined up in the courtyard as they enter the castle with the Royal family standing in the front.

Her father was a close friend of King Phillip of the North, and they were always extending a warm welcome to their family.

Standing next to King Phillip was his stern wife Queen Victoria. The stern queen had always frightened Jemma a bit. It was rumored that the Queen had been born beyond the Wall, and her alliance with King Phillip has brought peace between the North and what lay beyond the Wall.

Skye stood beside her mother, bouncing on the balls of her feet, despite propriety. Jemma's mother sighs a bit at Skye's enthusiasm. She had grown even more beautiful since the last time Jemma had seen her. Her long black hair flowed past her shoulders, and her brown eyes were sparkling with excitement and happiness.

However it was the tall man standing next to King Phillip that caught her eye. It took a moment to place him, and it was only the giggling of her handmaidens that had jogged Jemma's memory.

"That's Prince Grant, isn't it?" Clara, one of her handmaidens, murmurs under her breath. "I see the rumors about him are not exaggerated."

Jemma knew Grant, of course. He had been a constant in her childhood, like Skye had. But the past few years that she had been in the North, he had been noticeably absent. She knew that he had spent some time in the South, learning about the politics of the Southern court. And then some time in the East, getting entertaining some new alliances that would come along with his sister's marriage to Prince Leopald.

She hasn't seen him in years, and she almost forgot of him. Of course he would be back in the North for his sister's wedding. And he was growing older, soon it would be time for him to take a wife himself, and then he would ascend to the throne.

"Phillip," her father roars, embracing the other man. She had never entirely understood their friendship. Her father was boisterous while King Phillip was solemn. But the two of them together was something else entirely. Despite the strangeness of their friendship, there a bond between them that was present but unspoken.

"It's good to see you again, Richard," King Phillip, "I'm so pleased you could be here."

"I wouldn't have missed it." Her father promises. "Queen Victoria," he turns towards the Queen and bows slightly. "It is a pleasure to be in your company again."

The Queen grants him a rare slight smile, "It's a pleasure to have you in the North again, King Richard." She places a hand in her fathers and he brings it up to his lips to kiss gently.

"Allow me to introduce my son and my heir," King Phillip says as Grant steps forward. "Prince Grant, first of his name."

"Ah yes," her father moves to appraise the tall Prince. "I had wondered who the strange face was. It has been years since I've seen you." He clasps Grant on the shoulder. "It is good to see you again."

Grant bows slightly. "I had intended to visit your court in the West next. However my sister's wedding happened before that."

"And we look forward to welcoming you in the West when the time is right," her father smiles broadly at Grant. "I look forward to hearing of your many accomplishments, your father has bragged much about your skills."

"I'm sure they are all exaggerations," Grant says humbly.

"I look forward to hearing about your travels nonetheless, particularly your time at the Southern court." She wonders if she's the only one who hears way her father's voice changes a bit at the end. But when Grant's face grows a little more serious, she knows he heard it too.

Her father turns towards Skye, "And the bride to be," he smiles widely; all traces of seriousness have vanished. "It's good to see you again dear."

"I am so pleased you could be here," Skye says in a barely tempered voice.

"Jemma would not even consider the possibility of missing your wedding, nor would I." Her father turns towards her.

"Princess Jemma," King Phillip greets her, as she curtsies at the acknowledgment. "It's a sheer joy to see you back in Northern court."

"It's wonderful to be back," she says clearly. "King Phillip, Queen Victoria," she acknowledges both of them.

Queen Victoria acknowledges her with a singular nod.

"Grant," King Phillip turns towards Grant. "Remember the young Princess."

"She's not young anymore," Grant appraises her with dark eyes, and she feels herself flush under his gaze. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Princess." He says holding a strong arm out. She delicately places her hand in his, letting him lift her hand to his mouth and barely graze his lips against the back of her hand. Shivers shoot down her back at the light touch.

"Thank you," she says softly, as he lets go of her hand.

King Phillip eyes them curiously for a moment before turning to greet her mother. "You must be exhausted after your journey." He tells her mother.

"Yes," her mother says demurely, "It has been tiring."

"Let us show you to your quarters." Queen Victoria says, as the court begins to scatter.

Skye runs up her, "Gods be good, it great to see you again, Jemma." She screeches. She turns towards her older brother. "Don't you have something boring and all important to do? I need some alone time with my closest and oldest friend."

"Not at the moment," Grant says teasingly.

"Grant," Skye whines, "Go away."

"Be careful," Grant continues to tease her. "Your betrothed won't like that insolent tone of yours."

"Fitz will marry no matter what," Skye looks at him determinedly. "He's devoted to me."

Grant rolls my eyes. "For what reason, only the gods know."

Skye tugs on her arm. "Let me show you to your room." She shoots Grant a look, "Where _you_ are not welcome."

He watches them go, a soft smile playing on his face.

"I cannot believe you are getting married," Jemma says when they are finally within the confines of her bedroom.

"I have been betrothed since I was barely a babe, Jemma," Skye says, sprawled out on Jemma's bed. "This isn't entirely a shock."

"I know," Jemma says, "but it's strange to believe that you are going to be someone's wife in a few days."

"I know," Skye says with a knowing smile. "I find it quite impossible too."

"Are you happy?" Jemma asks her friend. "Marriage can be quite a frightening thing."

"I am," Skye says eagerly. "I was determined to hate the Prince in the beginning. When father and mother told me I had to marry him, I wanted to give him any reason not to marry me. hate being told what to do, you remember."

"I remember," Jemma pulls a face. "You destroyed your mother's favorite gown because she forced you to wear it that one time and you hated that shade of pink."

"I hate any shade of pink," Skye rolls her eyes. "But never mind that, I was determined to make the Prince hate me. I threw all my tricks at him. I chewed garlic so that my breath would reek all the time around him, I flirted with all the knights in his presence, and I would try to instigate duels between him and knights because he's a rubbish fighter."

"Skye," Jemma reprimands. "You did not?!"

"I did," Skye giggles softly. "But he did not let that deter him. He continued to try and court me. He dealt with my horrible breath and my blatant disregard of him, and he still looked upon me as if I hung the moon in the night sky. He won my heart, Jemma."

Jemma sighed dreamily. "He sounds wonderful, Skye. I am so happy for you. You are very lucky."

"I know," Skye's face grows a bit dark. "I heard your mother tried to marry you the Snake Prince in Dorne. You are alright?"

Jemma shivered at the memory of the particularly vicious suitor. "I am fine," she assured her friend. "My father put a stop to it immediately. He all but threw the Dorne court out of the West when he heard of my mother's intentions."

"I heard he was particularly vicious." Skye says eyeing Jemma carefully. "Are you sure?"

"I am fine," Jemma assures her. "There were a few moments, frightening moments," she amends. "But he's gone now, and my father is more insistent that it will be him that arranges my marriage."

"I am sure your mother was furious at that," Skye rolls her eyes.

"She was a bit shaken up after the Dorne incident," Jemma says honestly. "I don't think she'll make any moves for awhile."

"Good," Skye says decisively. "You deserve someone who will love you."

"Love?" Jemma laughs. "That is a thing of fairytales, Skye."

"Why?" Skye looks at her, "I found it."

"You were lucky," Jemma brushes off.

"And so will you be, my friend." Skye assures her. "I promise you that."

She never used to dream of marriage. Her mother used to idealize it enough for the both of them.

But there is a part of her that did want to happy future. She wanted the happiness that Skye spoke of, that Skye had. And despite all her assertions otherwise, she did wish for a happy marriage.

Hours later, her mother enters her room and dismisses Skye with a wave of her hand. "I need to speak to my daughter."

Her mother stares at her intently for a few moments, as Skye scampers away. When the door closes behind her mother starts to speak, "You know that I have always wanted the best for you, despite your father's beliefs otherwise, I have only wanted a happy life for you."

"Of course," Jemma says quickly.

"I have always wanted the best for you, and my methods of showing that have been poor, I will admit." Her mother winces at bit at the end. But she charges on, "But that doesn't erase the fact that I've always wanted the best for you."

"I know, mother," she says soothingly.

"Your father has told me something today," her mother looks strained. "He has forbade me to speak of it to you, because he believes that I will attempt to change your mind"

"What is it?" Jemma says sitting up a bit straighter.

"I cannot say," her mother says mysteriously. "You will know soon enough. Just know this, Jemma dear." Her mother closes her eyes as if in physical pain, "I wanted more for you."

"Mother," she says slowly, intent on dragging the truth out of her mother.

"We will speak more on the subject later," her mother concludes, striding towards the door. "Wear your best dress tonight, your father insists you look your best tonight." She pauses for a moment. "Wear the purple dress your uncle brought you from the South, I will not have you looking like a Northern savage tonight. Everyone should know where you belong tonight," she says cryptically.

"Yes, mother," she says as her mother strides out the door, slamming it behind her.

She wears her purple gown to the Feast.

It's low cut and tight, and Jemma tugs away at it, until her mother shoots her a sharp glance that says more than any scolding could. Her father grumbles a little when he sees her. "I suppose this was your doing." He shoots at her mother.

Her mother doesn't say anything, just looks away.

Eager to soothe things between her parents, Jemma speaks up. "Am I dressed poorly, father?"

"No," Richard says instantly. "You look lovely, my dear. You will be the envy of Northern court."

Her mother relaxes a bit at that statement.

The doors open and they stride as a family. Her father in the center, and her mother off to his side. She trails after them, head held high, just as her Septa had instructed her. Their entrance is announced, but she barely hears it as she takes in the sights of the feast around them.

She feels all the eyes of Court turn towards her, and she fights the flush that takes over her. She cannot appear weak, she coaches herself. Instead she focuses on those around her.

The room is crawling with Northerns. Dukes and Duchesses, Lords and Ladies, even a few celebrated Knights are in attendance.

There is a long table in the center, where King Phillip sits in the center, with Queen Victoria sits to his side. Queen Victoria shares the same stiffness she sees in her mother.

A servant shows her to the open seat by Skye's side, and she instantly turns towards Skye's side, hopeful that her friend can clear up some of the confusion of tonight's proceedings.

"My dear friends," King Phillip's voice booms through the room as silence quickly settles, cutting off her question to Skye. "It pleases me greatly to welcome my dear friend, and King of the West, King Richard, back to Northern court."

There's a polite applause that follows. King Phillip pauses for a moment, and continues when it dies down. "We have all gathered here for the wedding of my dear daughter, Princess Skye, to the Prince in the West. However," the King's voice cuts through another course of applause, "we gather her tonight to celebrate something more than the arrival of my dear friend. We gather here tonight," King Phillip pauses, raising his goblet, "to celebrate a union."

A hush falls across the court, everyone waiting with baited breathes for the King's next words.

"The union," King Phillip looks towards her father, "between my son, Prince Grant, first of his name, and the Princess in the West, Princess Jemma."

There's an uproar at the King's statement. Jemma feels the room spin beneath her feet. She's suddenly grateful that she was seated for the news. Her eyes seek out Grant who is seated at the opposite table. He looks as shocked as she feels, but he graciously accepts the claps of congratulations on his back.

"To my heir, and the Princess that will soon take her place at his side."

She feels her heart stop at those words.

Objectively (as Jemma approaches most things in life) Prince Grant is a wonderful alliance.

He was well known throughout the land. And the North was well protected. He was coming into a strong kingdom and was shaping up to be a great leader. And on the superficial side of things, he was a catch. Handsome, strong, and rumored to be an excellent fighter. She had heard that he held the Northern honor that his kingdom was well known for.

But Grant was coming into his own Kingdom, and would expect her to stand by his side as he took his place on the throne. She looked at her Mother, barely veiled panic covering her face. Her mother shot her a stern look.

She had a kingdom. She needed to rule her people, not leave them behind. She couldn't leave them in the hands of one of her brainless cousins. Her kingdom was already weak, this would destroy their chances at preserving the West.

The ladies of the Court flock to her side, eager to offer their felicitations, envy, and advice.

It's Skye that stands by her side, shooing away admirers that become too curious.

"Are you okay?" She murmurs to Jemma when the Court settles into dinner.

"I do not know," Jemma says honestly, taking a sip of the honeyed wine.

"It's going to be okay," Skye clasps her hand underneath the table. "I promise you."

She slips out of ballroom, when the night becomes boisterous and the effects of wine have driven everyone to forgetfulness.

She doesn't expect anyone to notice her absence as she heads towards the gardens.

It's incredibly cold, and she starts to regret her dress choice and haste in leaving the suffocating warmth of the castle.

"Princess," Grant's voice nearly startles her into a bush.

"Prince Grant," she says breathlessly. His hands shoot towards her steadying her. He lets go of her almost immediately when she's standing upright. But his touch still burns her. "Thank you."

"It's no matter," he dismisses. "I saw you leave the ballroom." He stares at her intently.

"Yes," her cheeks flush a bit, "I needed some air."

"I need to extend my apologies, Princess," he says suddenly. "My father's actions were unfair to you. Announcing our impending marriage without any warning was not right."

"Oh," she says taken aback, unsure of what to say.

"I was as surprised as you were, my father didn't speak to me about his intentions." He continues on.

"I hope you are not disappointed," she blurts out.

"I—," he stops suddenly, "What?"

Her face burns in shame, and she fights the urge to run away. "What I meant to say, was that I hope you are disappointed with our alliance. I know that I am not the prettiest maiden, or the most accomplished."

"Princess," he starts.

"Please let me finish," she urges. "I know that it was our father's friendship that fueled this alliance. I'm not very desirable in looks, and my kingdom is constantly being threatened by King Garrett. But," she stiffens, "I am still the Princess of the West, and I refuse to abandon my kingdom for the safety of the North."

Grant looks taken aback, "Princess, I never asked you to abandon your kingdom."

"Your father implied that I would be joining you in the North to rule at your side," she says fiercely, anger clouding her judgment.

"Yes," Grant stresses, "ruling over both our kindgoms."

"What?" It was her turn to stare at him in confusion.

"It's their intention to unite the kingdoms in our marriage." Grant explains. "If we are to be married, you will join me in the North, but we will be ruling over the joint kingdom of the North and West."

"Oh," she says softly. A united kingdom would be beneficial for the West. The North was strong, and the West would prosper under it's protection. "Prince Grant," she begins apologetic.

"I understand you anger, Princess. But I need you to know that I am not disappointed in this alliance," he reaches a tentative hand forward, cupping her cheek. "I was actually hoping I'd get the opportunity to court you properly, if you agree to it."

She felt herself swoon a bit, "I would enjoy that very much, Prince Grant."

"Call me Grant," he says, stroking her cheek with his thumb. She finds herself leaning into his touch.

Protests of propriety are on the tip of her tongue, but she can't find the voice to say them, not when his touch is so distracting.

"If it pleases her highness, I would appreciate it if you would accompany me for a proper walk through the gardens, tomorrow?"

"That would be very agreeable," she says with a large smile.

"I'll call upon you midday," he says backing away from her slowly. "Always a pleasure, Princess."

She waits until he's a few paces away, "Grant," she calls out to him.

He turns around.

"Call me Jemma."

Her parents are arguing in her room when she returns to it.

The warmth that Grant had given her with his words vanishes at the harsh tone of her parents. She pushes through the door, and the arguing comes to a halt almost immediately.

"Jemma," her mother says, "There you are. Where have you been?"

"I went for a walk," she explains poorly.

"Never mind," her mother dismisses. "Tell your father you do not accept this alliance."

"Mother," she says slowly.

"Elizabeth, I told you that Jemma's alliance would be decided by me, and it has." Her father voice vibrates in anger.

"You cannot expect her to come and live in this savage place." Her mother shrieks.

"I am not asking your opinion, Elizabeth," her father says sharply. "Now leave, or you will be forcibly escorted out."

Her mother looks like she wants to say more, but she huffs and strides out, slamming the door again.

Her father winces a bit at the noise, but turns his gaze towards her. "Jemma, I'm sorry about Phillip's display this evening. It was my intention to tell you in person, but that did not happen."

"It is alright," she soothes. "I have spoken to Grant about it—."

"Grant?" Her father raises a curious eyebrow.

Jemma flushes, "Father," she says slowly.

"No, no, I am happy that you are getting to know your betrothed." Richard smiles widely. "He's a good boy, isn't he? I was very pleased with him, when we spoke. He is well spoken and seems to take after Phillip quite a bit. I think he will make a very good match for you, Jemma."

"I trust your judgment," she yields.

"However, if the boy proves to be a faulty match for you, I will revoke our arrangement immediately." Her Father promises.

Jemma looks at Richard in shock.

"Your happiness," her father cups her face and kisses her forehead, "means more to me than any alliance or friendship ever will."

Jemma's eyes water, and she brushes at the corners of her eyes to keep the tears from falling.

"Rest now, Jemma." Her father pulls away. "It's been a long day, and you're going to need your strength in the coming days."

"For the wedding?"

Her father's face looks troubled. "And beyond."

The next morning when she is ushered to needlepoint where all the other girls are sitting with their septas, Skye rushes towards her and embraces her immediately.

"I wanted to call on you yesterday night, but Mother said it wasn't proper." Skye rushes out. "Are you alright?"

Jemma tugs away from the prying ears of the everyone else, and relegates the events of yesterday night to Skye. Skye is an active audience. She sighs when Jemma tells her about her meeting with Grant, and grows solemn when Jemma talks about her parents.

"I cannot believe Grant was so romantic," Skye sighs out at the end.

"Why?" Jemma says a bit unsurely. "Is he not normally like that?"

Skye looks at Jemma as if she had grown a second head. "No. You remember what he was like. Stoic and annoying and he has this complex where he believes that he's better than you."

Jemma stares at Skye.

"But he sounds like he's perfectly lovely to you," Skye amends. "Look for all his many faults, my brother is honor bound. I'm sure he will do everything he can to make you happy. And if he doesn't, I'll fight him in your honor, Princess Jemma."

Jemma giggles softly, thankful for Skye's reassurance.

"My Lady," Grant bows as she approaches him. "I thought I was supposed to call on you."

"I was tired of waiting," she says delicately. "It's not polite to keep a lady waiting, your highness."

"Forgive me," he smiles at her, "I was called away on some urgent business. But I am yours now." He offers her the crook of his arm and she places her hand delicately on his elbow, letting him lead her into the gardens.

She had always loved the gardens in the North. The plants that grew there were so different from the plants she found in the West. Her favorites were the blue roses that she had only seen in the North. "You favor these?" He asks when he notices her staring at the plant longer than anything else.

"They are beautiful," she admits.

He bends quickly, snapping off one of the flowers. He checks the stem for any thorns, and when he's satisfied there are none, he hands it to her. "For you, my Lady."

Blushing furiously, she tucks it into her hair. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," he breathes out.

She averts her gaze under his praise, unsure of how to react.

The rest of their walk is quiet. But not painfully so. He interrupts the silence with a question ever so often, and she answers it, before turning the question on him.

She discovers that he's kind, incredibly so. And he's courteous, he never makes a sudden move towards her.

At the end of the walk, he kisses her hand softly, leaving her back at her room, and she's thirsting for more. She wants to know more about him.

She wants to know everything about him.

She _likes_ him.

She hates being a blushing lady.

She prefers books and logic to needle point, and her father always made it a point to encourage her interests. But in the North, she's confined to the chambers of the other women and needle point, and she hates it.

Skye hates it too, and it's a small comfort.

After discovering her distaste of needle point, Grant makes it a point to continually request her presence when she's expected to sit with the other ladies. She can barely hide her smile as the other ladies whisper around her, whenever he stands in the doorway and grins at her boyishly, asking to steal her away for a bit.

He takes her to the study one day and lets her marvel over the books. He groans when she shoves a few in his hands. "I do not enjoy them very much," he explains.

"These are my favorite," Jemma stresses. "Try them. If you do not like them, I will not speak of it again."

Days later, he sheepishly asks her for some more books. "They weren't all bad," he admits to her great amusement.

Skye gets married.

Jemma watches the ceremony carefully, knowing that in a matter of months it would be her up there, repeating the marriage vows to Grant.

She turns her gaze towards Grant, only to find him looking at her heatedly. She feels herself flush and look away.

She watches as Prince Leopald and Skye pledge themselves to one another, and as Prince Leopald lifts the veil covering Skye's face and kisses her deeply.

She meets Grant's gaze again, and he's still staring at her. She holds his gaze this time, though.

She would be married soon.

"I will miss you terribly," Jemma admits when it comes time for Skye to leave for the West.

"Not for long," Skye says teasingly, looking towards Grant. "I'm sure you'll find someone to occupy your time."

Jemma smiles indulgently at Skye for a moment. "Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," Skye admits. "But there's a part of me that is a bit excited."

"You are insane," Jemma says rolling her eyes.

"I know," Skye smiles. "I will write you."

"And I you," Jemma says pulling Skye in for another embrace.

"I will be back for the wedding," Skye promises.

"I will hold you to that." Jemma nods as Prince Leopald came to stand by Skye's side.

"We should go," he urges her, shooting Jemma an apologetic glance.

Skye smiles nervously at Jemma before walking towards the carriage. Jemma stands in the courtyard and waits until they are out of sight. She was overcome by a wave of sadness, watching her friend leave her.

Her eyes flit towards Grant, and Skye's words come back to her.

She wasn't alone, not anymore.

_tbd._

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